Union of the Stars: Side Stories
by asa-hanada
Summary: Side stories to accompany Union of the Stars: The 220th Hunger Games, my currently running SYOT. These will make absolutely no sense if you haven't read the original story. Contains at least one side story for each tribute and side character that appears in the story.
1. Flash Fire: Brandon Barksdale

**Union of the Stars: The 220th Hunger Games**

 **Side Stories**

 _These were originally posted on my tumblr (mihanada) but after deciding to write ficlets for each tribute in addition to a growing cast of side characters, I figured it would be best to migrate the rest over here so it's easier for readers to keep track of them. I will continue to post them to tumblr as well, mostly because each one gets a nice cover picture._

 _Be aware that absolutely none of these will make sense unless you read the Union of the Stars._

 ** _All major spoilers will be marked! Please skip the ones marked (light spoilers) if you don't want even an inkling of what's to come. A few are marked (major spoilers), so read at your own discretion._**

* * *

 **1: Flash Fire - Brandon Barksdale**

 _How Brandon came to despise the Mu…_

* * *

Work on the farm is a constant and nearly endless stream of hard work under an unforgiving sun. District 10′s flat expanses of land used to raise livestock provides no shade whatsoever, except in the moving shadows of the barns and houses. The rest is pasture for the livestock.

Bran is thirteen and more than old enough to herd the sheep alone. One of the farm's many herder dogs is enough company for him. In fact, the dog is probably more reliable than Bran's older brother, Camden, who acts like being sixteen means he knows just as much as the older stablehands and workers.

Bran doesn't even know what Camden is rambling about a few yards away, but does admit his brother is great at carrying a conversation all by himself. The chatter is completely unnecessary, though. Bran wishes Camden would just save his breath.

A series of sharp, rolling barks from the other side of the herd catches Bran's attention instantly. He straightens, immediately breaking into a jog to see what has the dog in an uproar. The herder dogs are normally quiet; they only bark when they sense a threat.

"Aw, she's probably barkin' at a coyote again. Leave it, the others will take care of it," Camden says lazily as Bran ignores him and races off down the field. "Bran! Get back here!"

The dogs are well trained and Bran knows the one they're working with today. He sees her tail lashing aggressively as she barks in the direction of the barn. Bran slows down as he reaches her side, eyes sweeping over the entire wooden structure for something - a curl of smoke, maybe.

There is nothing. Nothing he can see and hear from here, at least.

"Stay," he orders the dog. She falls into a sitting position, but her ears are still at attention as she watches him walk closer to the barn.

Wild coyotes sometimes sneak into the coop and kill the chickens they keep for their own consumption. Maybe one has snuck inside. Bran doesn't hesitate to run up to the doors. Standing tall and speaking in his best imitation of an adult's deeper voice is usually enough to scare them away.

However, he hears voices on the other side of the door. They're faint, but he can make out the angry shouts that bring him back to sleepless nights in his former home. His father, irate as he interrogated his wife about her whereabouts for most of the night. His mother, barking at them for reasons he can't even remember.

Bran knows that they're probably screaming at one of the new stablehands. The farm recently hired a few more to help during the busiest seasons, throwing the entire hierarchy of the place out of balance. He rolls his eyes as he pushes the doors open. That's why he prefers to work alone with the animals.

Indeed, he sees five regular workers cornering a young boy just two years older than Bran. He must have messed up something. Bran scans the room and finds a broken halter laying on a pile of hay. That explains it.

All of the regulars are older than either of them by at least four years, but Bran isn't to back down just because the others are bigger and stronger than him. He walks into the barn intending to tell them to just get back to work when he hears the boy shout, "Leave me alone!"

Bran is about to break into a run, forget warning them off, but he never gets a chance. The entire barn seems to shiver just then, the wood groaning all around them.

"There you are!" Camden exclaims from behind him. He grabs Bran's wrist and drags him back outside.

Bran twists free of his brother's hold and snaps at him, "Get off me!"

A second later, the barn shrieks. Then it snaps.

Bran turns around so fast that he doesn't know what he is staring at, at first.

The sturdy wooden panels snap outwards, like something huge kicked it from within. Camden grabs Bran's arm and drags him away to avoid the flying bits of wood. Even though Bran wants to stand his ground, half of him agrees that whatever is happening is out of his control.

A loud, splintering crash shoots across the flat fields around them. It's followed by screams, horrible, twisted screams like the ones Bran hears on the Games every year.

He watches with horror as parts of the barn collapse outward, as the boards suddenly burst into flames.

"Wh-what the hell…" Camden gasps, releasing Bran enough for him to squirm out of his brother's grasp and get closer. "Bran! Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Getting closer, Bran sees the source of the destruction standing untouched amongst the rubble. It's the boy from before. The stablehand. He's - he's not right. He's surrounded by flames glowing yellow, and as Bran stands there, he watches as the boy falls into a crouch and screams.

His screams seem to make the flames wake up even more. They rise into the air, forcing Bran to stumble away.

He hears a terrible moan cut through the sounds of creaking wood and flames crackling in the air and sees one of the regulars at the edge of the destruction. He is completely pinned beneath splintered wood that cuts into his body. A red puddle of blood grows beneath him.

The haze of horrified curiosity breaks over Bran's head in an instant. Fear slams into him as he watches the boy - no, the Mu - throw his arms out with a scream, making the rest of the east wall collapse. The only to escape the fire and carnage was a stablehand Bran has known for years. He runs in the direction of the farmhouse, where there will be a phone and backup against this terrible creature that has just emerged from among them.

Bran, for once, lets his brother drag him away.

All he thinks about for the rest of the night is the broken screams and groans of pain, the sight of wood ripped through those men's bodies like wet paper.

What gave him - _it_ \- the right to snatch their lives away just like that? Sure, they could be unfair, bullies, sometimes. But that just meant they deserved a good beating in a fight, not to be slaughtered like the animals they raise for meat.

Bran doesn't eat much that night. He can smell the scent of burning flesh in his nose still. Even his twin sister's prodding can't get him to budge.

"Leave me alone, Cori," he says later, after dinner. It's a nice night, too. Taya put together a decent meal of roasted chicken and bread for them. It's not something she gets to do often.

Slowly, the hatred brews in his chest. The Capitol is right. Mu are deceptive, dangerous creatures. They shouldn't even exist. Nothing in nature should be able to cause such mass destruction in such a small amount of time.

Before, Bran didn't think too hard about it. Mu are sent to the Games every year. He's always thought they looked a bit pitiful, but the display of their destructive powers in a contained arena is proof that they deserve to be there, to some degree. Now, Bran is certain of that.

* * *

Brandon Barksdale belongs to Golden Moon Huntress.


	2. What the Eye Perceives: Galen Vikander

**Union of the Stars: The 220th Hunger Games**

 **Side Stories**

* * *

 **2: What the Eye Perceives - Galen Vikander**

 _Galen discovers his abilities while running away from a schoolyard bully._

* * *

In the aftermath of his father's death, Galen's mother, Justice, held him in her arms on the couch for hours at a time. She would stroke his hair every now and again, just as she did when he was young, and sigh against the top of his head as they watched the light fade from the sky outside. At twelve, Galen knew better than to shake or shove her hand off. He knew the gesture wasn't meant to comfort him so much as remind his mother that he was safe.

In the aftermath of his father's death, Galen didn't expect things to go back to the way they were, not at all. But he expected his mother to one day pick herself up, dust her pants off, and give him a tired smile that would say something like, "He wouldn't want us to sit around moping all day long. He'd want us to be happy, wouldn't he?"

Except, Galen is the one who ended up saying those words while his mother smiled slowly and emptily at his false enthusiasm.

Their house, which was once small but warm and full of laughter, is now a cold and dead thing. Galen never invites anyone over to his house anymore. In fact, most of his classmates flashed him looks overflowing with pity, or in some cases, outright scorn.

Galen sits by himself at lunch now. Right after his father's death a year ago, he hadn't wanted to speak to anyone. The friends he had never stopped it with the apologies and lamenting over how awful it must be to not have his father around anymore. How terribly he must miss him.

He had said something nasty to them one day. That they have no clue how he feels and never will have a clue unless _their_ father drops dead one day.

He doesn't regret it, not really. But eating lunch by himself does get lonesome. Of course, he doesn't want to return to eating with people who could care less about his situation than they do about making themselves out to be sympathetic. But being the subject of their whispers and stares is unbearable after a point.

A sharp jab against his back jolts him into dropping his carton of milk all over his sandwich. Galen slides to the side, eyes wide as he tries to avoid the milk spilling over the table.

"Oops!" a familiar voices cries out from behind him.

Galen turns around, eyes narrowed into a glare. It's Lyle and his friends, again. Galen opens his mouth to ask them if they really have such boring lives that they have to resort to the petty acts of a four-year-old, but Lyle beats him to it.

"I'm so sorry!" he says, feigning an apology loaded with all the sarcasm in the world. "I really didn't mean to! Here, why don't you take this. I know your family - well, your mom, really - hasn't had it easy lately. Go on, take it!"

Galen eyes the wrapped sandwich in Lyle's hand with outright disdain. He knows that it's either filled with sand in the middle or dirt and maybe a worm or two.

Against his better judgement, he reaches up and knocks the sandwich to the floor.

"No, thank you," he says stiffly. "If I end up in the nurse's office, then we'll really have something to worry about."

Lyle gasps in such an exaggerated way that Galen almost rolls his eyes before squaring his shoulders and turning to leave. He feels a yank at the back of his shirt before he manages to get more than two feet away. The force throws him off balance and he lunges for purchase before he lands flat on his back in a puddle of milk.

Laughs surround him as he catches hold of the bench and struggles to right himself. Galen sees nothing except Lyle's ugly grin and bites his tongue. Lyle and his friends have surrounded him, but they're too busy chatting with each other and bad mouthing him to pay attention. Galen grabs the milk carton off the table and tosses it at them, sending the rest of the milk flying as he uses the opportunity to make a run for it.

He dashes out of the cafeteria, down the halls and to the top of the stairs. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees the three boys thundering down the hallway towards him.

Taking the stairs two at a time nearly sends him tumbling down the entire flight. Instead, he manages to maintain his balance and slam into the wall when he lands after flying over the bottom step.

Teachers shout after them, but the others are too angry to listen and Galen doesn't want to risk a black eye if one of the teachers can't stop them in time.

He runs, as far as his legs will take him, until he begins to tire. By this time, he has reached the sparse playground that only the youngest children in the daycare next door use. Glancing wildly around at the flat area, he make his way to the slides and ducks behind them to catch his breath.

Galen's chest is heaving as he crawls under and presses his knees to his chest. He can hear Lyle and his friends throw the doors open and stride onto the playground.

This hiding place won't hold up for long. If any of them move around the slides, they only have to glance left or right to see him.

Their voices grow louder and Galen presses himself further against the cold metal of the slides. He pleads, _Don't look, don't look, don't look._ He wants them to just turn around so he can get up, dust himself off, and carry on with his day. Things might be tense at home with his mother moving about the house and off to work with barely a word for him aside from 'hello' and 'good morning', but she will worry if he comes home all beaten up.

Why does this stuff keep happening to him? He knows that life can't go back to how it was before his father died. But is it so much to ask for to go through a normal school day just once? To go a single day without hearing his classmates point out how he doesn't have a father anymore, or to go a week without Lyle and his friends pulling cruel pranks on him?

His chest burns as he shuts his eyes tight. It's not fair.

He hears Lyle round the corner of the slides, happily wondering if Galen is hiding in such an obvious place.

 _Don't look,_ Galen thinks desperately, knowing it won't happen. _Don't look._

He opens his eyes and stares to the right where he can see Lyle's feet.

Galen holds his breath.

Lyle, as predicted, turns to the left and leans down to look under the slide. Galen is ready to take off when he notices something odd.

As he shifts back into place, Lyle frowns and squints as if there isn't enough light to see by. But there is more than enough light; it's the middle of a bright, sunny day, warm and dry.

Even though Galen can clearly see Lyle, can look into his eyes and see the confusion and annoyance just grazing the surface, Lyle still doesn't rise up and shout that he found their target. Instead, the other boy straightens up and trots off, calling out to his friends.

"He must've run all the way around! You go to the left, we'll go to the right and cut him off!"

As the last of their voices fade into the wind, Galen's heart rate climbs until it feels like it's about to leap out of his chest. He inhales a shaky breath. He holds it in as the truth seeps into his brain.

"No…" he mouths, no sound escaping. _Yes,_ echoes in his head. It isn't the most common ability, but he has seen plenty of tributes in the Games hide themselves from harm. Animals and other tributes can walk right up to them without seeing a thing in the best case scenario, just like how Lyle was staring straight at him and never once realized he was there.

The first thought in his mind is horror and a desperate wish for it to be untrue, but the reality is undeniable.

He's a Mu. He's the same as those children the Capitol steals away every year and forces to fight each other to the death. He never thought it was fair. No matter what their abilities could do, it didn't mean they deserved to die a gruesome and painful death. But before, he could proudly say that he didn't support the Games from atop a pedestal.

Now. Now…

And he was worried about being the only kid without a father. Galen closes his eyes as the shame washes over him.

He doesn't even know why he feels this way, just that it clogs his throat and squeezes his chest until he can barely breathe. It refuses to go away, just like how the faint hum from deep within him doesn't ease. He wonders when it started, and why it scares him less than the rapid beating of his own heart.

It's proof that he is different, he thinks. And different in the worst of ways.

It means he won't ever be normal. Even if life calms down and everyone stops making fun of him or giving him those pitying looks, even if his mother begins to truly smile and spend time laughing with him again…Even if he achieves that, he will never have that normalcy.

He will have to hide this part of him for the rest of his life.

Galen unfolds his limbs shakily and tries not to think about how unfair it is. He instead thinks about how he is going to head back inside that school and pretend that he _is_ a normal boy.

And this time, unlike his attempt at cheering his mother up, it has to work. His life depends on it.

* * *

Galen Vikander belongs to PercyJacksonAlways.


	3. Starry Night: Roan

**Union of the Stars: The 220th Hunger Games**

 **Side Stories**

* * *

 **3: Starry Night - Roan**

 _(minor spoilers)_

 _Roan adjusts to life after manifesting his abilities at the age of eight. He has some unseen help along the way._

* * *

The nights are scary. Nothing lies in front or behind him. He can only tell he has all his fingers and toes because he can wiggle them and touch the cold sheets, run them down his cheek or wipe away the tears that gather in his eyes from the pain of the day's tests.

It hurts. His head aches with a dull, constant pain. Every time he opens his eyes, the strain forces him to close them before tears start streaming down his cheeks again.

They call the test a 'psychological exam', but he still doesn't understand what they test for when they slide him into that domed machine. It's even narrower than his room. He hates it inside there. It's worse than the dark, because at least in the dark he has quiet and knows where the walls are. The machine screams in his ears and he can't move at all. He can't feel anything but it crawling into his head and ripping him apart from the inside out.

He shivers and curls into a tight ball, wrapping the sheets around him like - like. He can't remember.

The nights are scary because he can't see anything and because he has time to think about all the things that he can't remember. A few months ago, he woke up and his mind was mostly blank. Empty. He was six two years ago, but he doesn't remember anything about that time.

They call him Roan, sometimes, and he feels like that should be important. He knows it's his name, but the reason why is gone.

He whimpers in the dark, pressing his cheek against his knee. He knows that he isn't supposed to reach out with his thought waves unless they allow him, but he can't help it. Even brushing against the presence of the others like him brings him some comfort. At least then he knows that he isn't the only one cold, afraid, and empty.

Tonight, long after the handlers leave, he reaches out. His range isn't very long, but it doesn't need to be.

The others' hurts and sadness and boredom crash into him, crushing his lungs and head as he swims through their thoughts. No one bothers to answer him, as usual.

Then he hears someone.

It's a voice in the distance, very faint, but lovely and warm. A voice that sounds happy, like a person singing. Although he can't really remember what a singing person sounds like, he knows this is similar.

The boy smiles, picking up little bursts of emotion and words from this voice. It strains his already tired, aching head to do so, but he wants to hear that person more than he wants the pain to stop.

Then the voice is suddenly - louder. Stronger.

The boy blinks.

" _Hello,_ " says the owner of the lovely voice. " _Why, thank you. That's very nice of you to say._ "

"But I'm not saying anything," the boy whispers. A soft shush fills his mind, but it's like a warm wave washing over him.

" _You don't need to say anything for me to hear you, or for you to hear me. Speak to me like this, okay? I don't want you to get in trouble for talking at night._ "

The boy nods. " _Okay. Mister, can I ask, who are you? I don't remember a lot of stuff, so maybe we met before? If so, I'm sorry._ "

" _There is no need to apologize in the least,_ " the voice assures him, filled not only with warmth, but an emotion he can't quite name. " _I, I can't tell you my name. Not yet._ "

The boy feels more than hears the fear crashing through the owner of the voice. It's a fear he has felt more than enough times. Nodding vigorously, he says, " _It's okay, I understand._ "

There is a pause.

" _Thank you. You are a very kind boy._ "

He feels an energetic flutter from within himself, not the voice. It's vaguely unpleasant, but not horrible.

" _Mister? Can you sing again like you were before?_ "

" _Sing again? I wasn't - oh._ " The voice pauses, then laughs gently. " _I wasn't singing, I'm sorry. I can't speak very well, let alone sing._ "

The boy wants to ask what he was doing that sounded like singing, but figures it would be impolite to do so.

" _It's okay. I'm sorry for not understanding._ "

The voice is still there, vibrating gently in an odd, but pleasant sort of way. Then it tickles at his consciousness.

" _I want to show you something amazing. You mustn't tell anyone about it. If you ever get scared of the dark, I want you to think of this image-_ "

" _Wait, how did you know I'm scared of the dark?_ "

The voice laughs, warm and gentle, but firm in a way.

" _Because I felt the same way when I was your age. Unable to remember a thing except the basics, with no one to tell me which way was up or down. Whether I was real or not._ "

It amazes him how much the voice knows. He latches onto every word.

" _I want you to concentrate on this image whenever you're feeling cornered, when the dark gets to be too much or you need to know there is a world outside those four walls._ "

And in his mind's eye he sees an image. An image of a large, endless expanse of black and the most beautiful shade of blue he has ever seen, dotted with gleaming points of white.

" _That's the night sky and those points are stars. If you ever get overwhelmed, I want you to concentrate on this image. I want you to remember that the dark doesn't last forever. That a world exists outside of the one you're in._ "

The boy holds that image in his head and admires its beauty, how the stars light up the darkness, how a sky that was pitch-black could shine such a rich blue color under those little pinpricks of white.

" _Thank you,_ " the boy says, gratitude washing over him. " _Thank you, mister._ "

" _It's the least I can do,_ " the voice whispers. " _Now, you should get some sleep._ "

* * *

The 'psychological exam' is the absolute furthest thing from a real psychological examination possible. It's basically a procedure that bombards a Mu with machine-generated psion waves to measure the reaction of the Mu's internally generated psion waves. It's the most accurate way to measure their psionic potential/powers, but it also happens to be very painful.

Roan belongs to me.


	4. Between the Stars: Leontius Gaudet

**Union of the Stars: The 220th Hunger Games**

 **Side Stories**

 _I cannot emphasize enough how much this side story contains major spoilers for some stuff that will be revealed throughout the course of the story._

* * *

 **4: Between the Stars - Leontius Gaudet**

 _( **major** spoilers)_

 _(contains implied sexual content between consenting adults)_

 _The Head Gamemaker, Leontius Gaudet, is not a perfect person. Even he has trysts with mysterious young men and women from time to time..._

 _Takes place about 20 years before the start of the 220th Hunger Games._

* * *

A sharp rap at the door interrupts their labored pants and sighs.

Leontius curses beneath his breath and crawls across the bed, kicking his partner's clothes underneath as he pulls on a shirt. He buttons the shirt with one hand as he tosses the crumpled blankets on the bed's other occupant.

Another knock sounds at the front door of his apartment.

Leontius leans over to hit the button on the intercom and says into the video feed, "I will be right there, Elisia. Hold on."

His assistant's shrill voice bursts forth from the speakers, "Another tryst of yours? It better not be one of those _Mu_ you seem so fond of, again-"

Elisia's voice cuts off as she sees the other person in the room. Leontius had to move to the side to pull his pants on, not realizing she could see him. He curses and covers the camera with his hand.

"It is! Mr. Gaudet, the Games are in two weeks! You cannot keep going off and-"

"I will be at the door in a minute, Elisia," Leontius says with a sigh as he cuts off the connection and finishes.

The sound of a warm, vibrant laugh fills his head, followed by a breathy sort of chuckle from behind him. Leontius whirls around and eyes the seemingly young man curled in the center of his bed with a glare.

"Oh, so you're a redhead this time?" Leontius hisses at the man. His hair, which had been a warm shade of blond just a few minutes ago when Leontius was running his fingers through the smooth strands, is currently auburn red. Like the color of rust. His eyes shine with amusement, a dark shade of green. "You like to ruin my reputation, don't you."

" _Are you saying your other lovers aren't handsome young men like myself?_ "

"One, you are not young," Leontius whispers harshly, not that it matters how loud he speaks. "You are four years younger than me, _old man_. Two, I don't have any other 'lovers' like you and Elisia keep thinking I do."

The man grips the blankets and pulls them up to cover his torso, but Leontius sees his arms and back trembling from the movement and sighs. He gets up and eases his partner down on the bed.

"I'll be right back."

* * *

When Leontius returns, the man's hair is blond again, and he is lounging with the blankets and pillows surrounding him. It's been fifteen minutes; Elisia had launched into long-winded lecture on why he shouldn't be fooling around so close to the start of the Games before asking him to approve a new set of computers for the control room.

"Sorry about that," Leontius says. He doesn't receive a response. Sighing, he walks over and thinks, loud and clear, _Azure._

Azure's head instantly snaps up to stare at him. Leontius apologizes again, not bothering to speak. It doesn't matter, because Azure can't hear him anyways. He shakes his head slowly in response, bright hazel eyes gazing at Leontius with a million thoughts and feelings that he won't reveal. Leontius sighs.

He reaches out with one broad hand and pushes the blankets aside to run it over Azure's side, his thumb pressing gently against the ridges of his ribcage.

"You're too skinny. Aren't they feeding you properly?" he asks, not entirely teasing. Azure can surely hear the irritation spike in his mind and emotions. "I'll order some food. What do you want?"

He runs through the options in his head, envisioning fancy soups and breads, pastries, some sort of meat dish the avoxes served last week with a rich sauce.

" _Stop that!_ " Azure protests, gripping his sleeve with an insistent tug and an odd flash of his own thoughts. It's a muddled haze of guilt and mournful pain that guts Leontius straight through. He winces as Azure's presence in his mind recedes. " _I can't handle such rich foods, anyway._ "

"Alright," Leontius concedes. "I'll order soup. Plain chicken soup, okay? Nothing fancy."

" _Nothing fancy,_ " Azure agrees with a sharp nod.

It doesn't feel weird to hold these somewhat one-sided conversations anymore. They've been at it for thirty years, after all. Leontius puts in his order over the intercom again, keeping it to audio only.

When he returns to bed, he takes a moment to observe Azure's labored breathing. The rapid rise and fall of his thin chest unsettles Leontius. Azure might look like he is in his prime, if one just looks at his face compared with Leontius's, but Leontius knows better. Sometimes he is afraid to even hold his frail body, of asking for too much and being given too much in return.

"Leon," Azure says, really _says_ , in words that Leontius can hear. His voice is harsh and breathy, as if he has run a marathon and is just managing to squeeze those two syllables out.

Leontius shakes his head and sits next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and squeezing gently. Azure leans against his shoulder with a soft, exhausted sigh.

" _The younger Mu are growing impatient,_ " he says, the words laced with worry and the odd, familiar threads of anxiety. Leontius can feel them as if they originate from his own heart, even though he himself is calm. " _They are no longer satisfied with saving as many of our own as possible. They want action. They want change. And I-_ "

His telepathy cuts off immediately, leaving nothing but silence in Leontius's mind. He nudges Azure, peering at his downturned face. He hasn't aged a day over twenty or so, and it's eerie.

" _You've aged quite well yourself. Still handsome enough to attract 'beautiful young men' to your bed,_ " Azure teases. Leontius frowns and gives him a glare.

"I don't need to know what's going on in anyone's head, let alone Elisia's."

Azure hums, though no sound comes out of his throat as usual.

" _The younger Mu…I want to make them happy, but…_ "

"You can't risk it," Leontius says. "Not after what you loss in the war thirty years ago. The younger generation doesn't know the sacrifices it took to get where you are now, so of course they push for change - that's what it means to be young."

" _I don't recall you being so foolish._ "

Leontius smiles. "You're biased."

" _Maybe,_ " Azure says with a matching grin. " _But maybe not. Who else would risk everything for a Mu like myself? Your career, your life. You risk it even now._ "

"We just do what we can," Leontius says, rubbing Azure's shoulder firmly, but not too hard. "Leave the fighting to the youngsters. I think you earned that right."

His words won't change the unease in Azure's heart. Leontius knows this before he even speaks the words out loud. He welcomes everyone else's pain as his own and can't help but want to reach out to them even if it causes himself injury.

Leontius runs his other hand down Azure's chest, to his abdomen where a scar stands out against his pale skin. Azure is trembling, but not from fear or pain; Leontius can feel the exhaustion in his thought waves, the sheer force of will that keeps him from collapsing. Biting his lip to keep himself from commenting on the old wound, Leontius pulls the blankets around him to conceal the scars for when the avox comes to deliver the soup.

" _I wish I could live long enough to see the day that those younger Mu dream of._ " Azure's hopeless sigh cuts through the room's air.

Leontius grips him tighter and repositions himself in front of him, holding both shoulders firmly as they look into each other's eyes.

"Don't say that," Leontius says. "Don't you dare imply that I'll outlive you."

Azure smiles faintly. He reaches up, though even that takes a bit of effort, and leans into Leontius's hold to lay a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"I'll try," he says in that hoarse, airless manner of his. His speech used to be better, but years spent living among other Mu who he can speak to through thought waves has reverted his words to harsh, shaky utterances.

Leontius nods sharply. He doesn't know what he would do if Azure leaves him, if whatever bond they have between them disappears into the universe to be forgotten.

"Alright," Leontius says, helping Azure to lean back against the pillows stacked against the wide headboard. The bell rings again, and he goes to the front again to retrieve the cart and tray from the avox.

Being Head Gamemaker has its perks, like this huge apartment that is practically a house on a single floor. He always wants to lavish Azure with all the things he has at his disposal in the Capitol: warm blankets, gourmet foods, even just medicine to ease his pain when he catches a cold. But Azure always rejects whatever he can.

Right now, though, Leontius prides himself in winning the privilege of wrapping him up in fine blankets and throws, and feeding him a hot bowl of soup. Even plain chicken soup is a lavish sort of thing, coming from the Capitol.

Leontius nods to himself as he sits down on the bed with the bowl.

"Okay. Let's talk. Last year, we saved one. I think it will be possible to rescue two this year. One of the younger Gamemakers had an idea for a forest fire that will be perfect…"

It's not much, in the grand scheme of things. How many Mu are killed each year, aside from the ones in the Games? Leontius doesn't wish to know. It's terrible enough orchestrating the deaths of up to twenty-four every year and having to face Azure, to discuss with him which children they should save and which they need to condemn.

"Leon," Azure rasps. " _Stop. This is what we can do with what we have. It may not be enough in the 'grand scheme of things', but you know. It matters to those one or two we save every year. I wish you could talk to them. I wish you could see them grow and be happy with the life you gave them._ "

"Stop making me out to be a hero."

Azure simply smiles. Leontius doesn't know what he is thinking, but he has found over the years that two people don't necessarily need telepathy to understand each other.

* * *

All of the Mu that Leontius is supposedly spotted sleeping with are actually Azure. Azure is just projecting a different appearance each time. Everyone thinks Leontius is beyond bizarre for _wanting_ to sleep with so many 'dangerous creatures', but not many dare to criticize him.

Leontius Gaudet and Azure belong to me. Azure is heavily, heavily inspired by a character from the source material I got the Mu from, _Toward the Terra,_ however.


	5. Losing Control: Genesis Arkose

**Union of the Stars: The 220th Hunger Games**

 **Side Stories**

* * *

 **5: Losing Control - Genesis Arkose**

 _Genesis fears that she is losing control of not only her powers, but her own self along with them._

* * *

Genesis only responds to people now when she is facing them and can see their lips moving. She is all too aware of the little half smiles everyone flashes her and each other when they think she isn't looking. Even without seeing them, however, she knows the exact thoughts running through their heads.

 _Spacing out again?_

 _She's totally got her head in the clouds…_

Their thoughts are sent directly to her brain, loud and clear. If she tries to block one out, another two join the mix.

It's exhausting. No matter how hard she tries to concentrate only on the sounds coming from their mouths, the thoughts always return in drips and drabs until she is lost in the sea of two conversations going on at once.

It marks her as a Mu. A monster. Humans can't trespass in each other's minds and invade each other's privacy. It's unnatural.

But even the mind reading is bearable, to an extent. If she is careful, if she takes extra care to keep her mouth shut and listen before she blurts out a response like she normally does, it's manageable.

No, it's the psionic bursts that really, truly mark her as a monster.

Genesis had been annoyed at her mom for scolding her, but she got annoyed at her mother plenty of times in the past. It never exploded cups in her hand before. She was just lucky that no one else was around and she was the only one hurt.

That was half a year ago. Now, Genesis has more to worry about than exploding cups.

Even during a nice afternoon outing with her friends, Genesis can't relax. Her eyes dart around wildly as they pass through the park and chat about their classmates' latest drama.

"I mean, they _just_ broke up last week! Now they're back together again?" Irina comments as she hops atop a low stone wall and walks across it, arms spread out on either side of her.

"It's not that weird," Riley says with a lift of her chin and a smile up at Irina. "My parents do it all the time!"

"That's weird," Irina says as she thinks, _What's wrong with her head? There's no way that's 'normal'!_

"No it's not!" _You're the weird one!_

Genesis squints, trying but failing to block at least one of them out. The park isn't empty; young children dart around the old playground, laughing and shrieking in glee. Their thoughts are blisteringly bright, right on the edge of her awareness.

"Genesis? Hello?" Irina calls out, waving her hand in front of Genesis's face.

Genesis jumps, lips twitching into a frown at being startled.

"You've been spacing out a lot lately," Riley hums with a mischievous grin. Irina hops off the wall and joins them on the overgrown stone path that winds through the park. "Maaaybe _you've_ got someone you like? Is that it?"

The sharp sting of annoyance flashes through Genesis.

"Ah, yeah! That makes sense! Oh, wait, is it _Zachary_? Is that why you didn't say anything about him and Erika before?"

" _No,_ it is not!" she spits, stopping in her tracks. Never mind their thoughts, the words coming out of their mouths is enough to make her snap. "Why can't you just leave it alone? There's nothing wrong with me!"

Except she is lying. And it's an awful lie. Genesis trembles as she clenches her fists and stares her friends down.

There is something wrong with her. She can't fix it by herself. She can't even control it.

Just the other day, her mom commented that she needs to bring her grades up if she wants to be something other than a stonecutter like them, and Genesis had _felt_ her powers act up. Her mom thought it was because someone placed the pot too close to the ledge, but Genesis was standing in front of that pot and knew it was her powers that did it. She even saw the faint glow of yellow around her hands.

She shivers at the memory. The pot had been filled with water. Genesis had jumped away in time, and her mother was far enough away, but she can't stop thinking of what could have happened if it was full of boiling water.

Irina and Riley stare at each other, then at her in confusion and a hint of irritation at her attitude.

Genesis feels a final surge of anger in her chest. Before anything happens, she hurriedly begins to stalk past them.

It's too late, though. Her friends aren't staring at her as she leaves, but at each other as they murmur about what has gotten into Genesis lately.

It stings. She isn't even out of a normal person's earshot and they're talking about her behind her back.

Genesis hears a snap.

It's a sharp sound. She whirls around as soon as she hears it, but it's too late to stop the tree branch from falling.

"Watch-!"

She doesn't get any further before the branch crashes down only a few feet away from Irina. The two girls scream, stumbling into one another as they scramble away from the heavy shadows of the tree above their heads.

Horror fills her lungs until she can't breathe.

Then fear seeps into the cracks.

Genesis turns and runs.

"No!" she gasps as she runs out of the park, feet pounding against the stones. She can feel the jolt of every step work its way up her body, throwing some of the horror out of her.

She finally stops near her house. The streets of the stoneworkers' neighborhood are rather sparse and dusty, but there is no one around at this time of day. Genesis slows down and jogs to her house, into the narrow yard behind it. She crouches down in the bushes, which hide her well enough, and catches her breath.

Her black hair gets caught in the tiny branches, but she doesn't care.

The only thing she cares about is this disease sitting in her head. In her veins.

It's consuming her from the inside out. And soon, it'll take away the people she loves, too.

Genesis buries her face against her knees and clenches her arms tight. How is she supposed to live like this?

Well, the answer is quite obvious without thinking too hard about it. The Hunger Games are in six months.

The Capitol's job is to protect its citizens from the Mu, the horrible and terrifying Mu who seek to wipe out humanity. Genesis's eyes tear up. She doesn't want that at all and she is a Mu. She doesn't want her friends and family hurt…and yet something deep inside of her, something deeper than her thoughts and desires, apparently does want to hurt them.

Genesis knows what she should do. It doesn't make it any easier to accept, though.

* * *

Genesis Arkose belongs to Elim9.


	6. The Psionic Wars by Leontius Gaudet

**Union of the Stars: The 220th Hunger Games**

 **Side Stories**

This one is written in a slightly odd style - I fashioned it to be like an informal report/letter that the Head Gamemaker, Leontius Gaudet, has drafted. It contains major spoilers for the history of the entire story.

* * *

 **6: The Psionic Wars by Leontius Gaudet**

 _( **major** spoilers)_

 _An account of the true events of the Psionic Wars, which were the catalyst of the current state of the Hunger Games and the Capitol's stance on the Mu._

* * *

The Psionic Wars, now an event from fifty years ago, was the conflict that changed the nature of the Hunger Games from punishing the Districts to persecuting the Mu. It was an event that brought a divided nation together against a common enemy, an event that settled the bloody feud between the Capitol and the Districts. However, just as all accounts of history are written by the victors, this is merely one interpretation and one side of Panem's long and complicated involvement with the Mu.

This document is a record of the truth, to be revealed to the nation upon my death. It was not written under duress, nor should it be taken as an act of confession for which I seek redemption. My one and only hope is for future generations to read this account and consider the ways in which information empowers us - to either ruin or to peace.

Although it is commonly framed as a revolt staged by a malicious species intent on eradicating humanity, the Wars were in fact orchestrated by the Capitol itself. Difficult as it may be to believe in such an outlandish conspiracy, the truth is written in the facts that I present to you today. Please do draw your own conclusions.

Included in this letter is a copy of a highly classified document signed and dated by the former President Nosek herself. The original document burned to the ground along with the Administrative Division of the Capitol's central courthouse during the war. The fifty page report details the scientific discovery of a laboratory-induced mutation leading to the creation of a set of genes, M4RA (i.e., the Mu factor). This set of genes gave the recipient the astounding ability to harness special wave patterns we now call psionic waves.

The decision was made shortly after the discovery of the Mu factor to harness its destructive potential in order to bring an end to decades of rebellion that plagued the country. The Districts, after over a hundred years of Hunger Games under the rule of the Capitol, were even prepared to wage all-out civil war in the near future. The Hunger Games no longer fulfilled the purpose they were intended to - the Districts rebelled again and again in spite of the punishment.

When the Capitol made the decision to use the Mu factor to end the conflict, it was still twenty years before the Psionic Wars would begin. During this time, many of those we call "Mu" were born or genetically modified in the Capitol's laboratories, then raised according to strict specifications to control their powers.

Numerous experiments were carried out over the years, all under innocuous titles. Most of the files, and subsequently the atrocities committed in the name of science and peace, were lost to the aforementioned fires. The few that remain are too graphic in nature to publish to the general public; a brief report will be included at the end of this letter.

In any case, by the time the first Mu was 'discovered' in District 6, the Capitol already housed more than a dozen others in the building that would later be named the First Block of the Department of Psionic Research. The period in between that time and the Psionic Wars, including the violent incidences and Mu attacks, were therefore for the most part carefully planned ahead of time by a special committee in charge of managing the Mu. The innumerable amount of District children revealed to have the Mu factor were, too, but one part of a grand plot to turn the nation against a threat much more immediate and dangerous than that of its own government.

Everything went as planned at first.

However, there is one factor that the ones in charge did not plan for. It was not the Mu factor, but the human factor.

The Mu are born from humanity, that much is true. We normal, average human beings created them from ourselves in order to inflict violence against our own kind. Included in the reports attached to this letter are several accounts from scientists and researchers involved in the project detailing the methods used to condition the Mu, proving that the Mu are not genetically dispositioned to eradicate humanity, as numerous reports since may claim.

Nothing about humanity is perfect, even if we aim to achieve it, and so neither are the Mu, who Psionic Research raised and intended to be emotionless and mindless monsters of destruction.

It may seem that I am diverting into a tangent meant to evoke sympathy, but please do humor me for a time and listen until the end.

Sixty-seven years ago, Psionic Research ran an experiment. It is officially labeled as a hybridization experiment regarding two types of vulpine muttations, but its actual goal was to examine the offspring of two Mu parents.

It was already known that the child of one Mu and one regular human parent produces what we commonly call 'Capitol Mu' - Mu with increased psionic potential but a weaker physical constitution.

The Mu-Mu pairing experiment was successful. Two Mu parents could produce a child, a natural-born Mu. Furthermore, the child born of two Mu parents is born with extraordinary psionic potential. In fact, the β-psion wave detector was able to detect the child's potential as early as three to four.

These natural-born Mu were later labeled as blue types on the Modified Psionic Typing Scale.

The first child born from this experiment was given the designation CB-01. Later, he would be known as Azure, the infamous leader of the Mu revolt fifty years ago.

Various inhuman experiments were carried out on the Mu from the time of their discovery, and the natural-born Mu were no exception. Psionic Research and the Committee on Mu Opposition reasoned that an in-depth understanding was needed to maintain control of the situation, but reality is perhaps less reasonable and structured than we would like to believe.

Everyone knows the Psionic Wars ended with the Games, but few are aware that it also started with the Games.

Fifty years ago, a private and exclusive Hunger Games was held in Psionic Research's old headquarters. Only the most influential and wealthy of Capitol citizens could attend the first Hunger Games involving Mu participants.

I, Leontius Gaudet, profess to my involvement as a Gamemaker in this Hunger Games. It is, indeed, where my career was founded and the basis for every action I have undertaken since then.

This unofficial Hunger Games involved every child that had been born under the Mu-Mu pairing experiment so far. It sought to select two winners - one male, one female - to further the experiment and examine a second-generation Mu. One might be curious as to why Psionic Research would sacrifice so many of their blue types to a single experiment. The very simple explanation is that Psionic Research quickly discovered the extraordinary and terrifying destructive power of the blue types and sought to decrease the risk of something going horribly wrong by decreasing the number of blue types under their control. That the experiment could continue, generate a good amount of income from the select Capitol viewers invited to watch, and eliminate most of the blue types was the perfect situation.

However, the Games ended in failure.

At the end of only three days, there were just two tributes left: CB-01, Azure and a female Mu, CB-04, also called Vera. Vera urged Azure to kill her before the Games officially ended, and in doing so, Azure suffered a mental breakdown which destroyed half of the building before he could be subdued.

Panem's Council and the Committee both agreed to scrap the Mu project. Although the one incident alone could be salvaged by eliminating the last of the blue types, the burst of raw psionic energy seemed to have influenced all Mu in the facility to act out. The decision was then made to systematically "dispose of" the Mu.

This was the incident that directly led to the Mu's revolt.

I have been told from a reliable source that it was the older generation of Mu who began the movement. Relying on the immense power of the first blue type, Azure, many of the Mu successfully escaped from confinement and thus started the Psionic Wars.

Much about the Wars is known to the public, so I will not rehash the terrible losses unnecessarily here.

Eventually, the Mu evaded capture and simply vanished - hidden from the world by a powerful psionic barrier, seeking to avoid detection and persecution.

Both sides sustained heavy losses and both sides have blood on their hands to this day, but the Capitol perhaps lost the most out of all. They lost their control over the situation. They had attained the common enemy they needed to stop the Districts' rebellions, but enough Mu had escaped their grasp that they could no longer feasibly wipe them out.

And so, the Council made a decision. The Mu left behind in the Capitol and Districts were to be rounded up, year after year, and sent into the Hunger Games before they could develop into a major threat to the country. Thus, the era we now live in was born.

As for my own involvement in the proceedings, most of you know that when the Committee asked me to continue my duties as a Gamemaker, I agreed.

Before I explain any further, I should first reveal the source of my knowledge of the Mu's side and part in the war. He has consented to being named in this document as my dear friend and co-conspirator. He is the current leader of the Mu: Azure, the first blue type Mu.

Our involvement with each other and eventual path to understanding and cooperation is a tale that I will withhold from the public if at all possible. It is not my story to tell alone, and I doubt we will ever have the opportunity to tell it together. And so, though I began this document by asserting that the truth and information are vital in moving toward the future, I shall selfishly take this story to the grave.

When I became Head Gamemaker, I made it my mission to save the Mu who were within my power to save, not only for my friend, but for myself who had a hand in starting those dreadful Wars. Starting that year and every year since, the Hunger Games have ended with not one, but two or even three Victors.

I do not know their whereabouts and never have, for their safety.

Have I done the right thing? I have asked myself that question many times. And many times, I have answered: Yes. But today, I think I will have to honestly answer: No.

Perhaps it is the sentimentality of an old man that compels me to say this, but there is certainly more I could have done. My only regret is that I hid the truth for so many years, as afraid of the consequences as I was as a young Gamemaker back in the day, when I watched a boy four years my junior kill one of the only friends he ever knew.

And so, I implore you, whoever is reading or listening to this account, that although the truth is sometimes painful, the consequences of concealing or ignoring it may be far greater than you could ever imagine.

signed,

Leontius Gaudet

* * *

On tumblr, I actually tweaked the coding to make Leontius's name be in a script font so it looks like handwriting. xD

Leontius Gaudet (and Azure) belong to me.


	7. Dreaming with the Clouds: Bianca Transom

**Union of the Stars: The 220th Hunger Games**

 **Side Stories**

A slightly odd one-shot, once again. Slight spoilers if you're really, really good at piecing together tiny clues and hints.

* * *

 **7: Dreaming with the Clouds - Bianca Transom**

 _(slight spoilers)_

 _Bianca's daydreams are rather fantastical, but her actual dreams are oftentimes beyond even imagination._

* * *

It's dark, dry, and dreary.

A draft winds through the trees, their looming forms stretching into an endless blanket of pines above her head. Beneath her bare feet, the mossy terrain is cold and crunches as she slides across the forest floor. Her breath forms starch-white clouds that fade into the air soundlessly.

There are rounded eyes watching her every move. Invisible, but present, resting amongst the shadowed branches far above. As she slips through the trees, they follow. As she gazes upward into an absent sky, they fade.

She lifts her hand to wave them away - or to wave them forward. She's not sure which. As her fingers hover before her face, the looming forms of the trees surrounding her ripple and fade like a stone breaking the surface of a lake.

When her hand falls down to her side, it's even colder, as if her wave invited a freezing wind to sweep through the forest.

Blinking away the frost on her eyelashes, she opens them again to a new scene.

It's not actually new, really. She's seen it before, but she can't quite grasp where and when and how.

The forest is still here, but a heavy fog so thick she can almost grab it has blanketed everything in sight.

As she walks further into the fog, her body grows heavy and tired. It only takes a few moments for her to stop and take a seat on a nearby mossy rock. Its cold seeps into her bones, into her head, and pricks her as she stares into the fog.

When she gets up again, she is no longer standing in a forest, nor are her feet standing on earth and stones.

She wriggles her toes and feels a burst of cold race up her legs. It's a weird, foreign sensation; District 4 is never this cold. The waters and air are always warm, never so freezing that she feels like she is sinking into a block of ice.

When she looks around, she sees nothing but clouds. An endless expanse of clouds that race across the sky, leaving her motionless form behind.

Little sounds reach her ears, like the chime of tiny pins dropping on the floor, or droplets of water falling onto the deck of a boat. It's quiet other than those little rings.

Sometimes she feels as if she is floating on the clouds when she is standing on top of one of the boats her family repairs for a living, but the wind is always in her ears, howling and whistling so loudly she can barely hear herself think.

The rings grow louder, then fade away, and approach again and again.

Eventually, the clouds begin to slow their mad race towards the end of the sky and she hears something different.

A tiny, fairy-like voice. No, voices.

Voices as small as drops of dew.

 _Wh..._ _...g...n..._

 _...I...thiii..._

She strains to hear, but nothing happens. The voices grow, buzz, hum, but she can't make out the words, if they are words at all.

After some time has passed, she finds herself standing in the forest again, without warning. The ground is still cold, but less than the clouds, the moss soft against her feet.

This time, a warm yellow and golden-orange haze of lights float between the trees, their forms almost swallowed up by the darkness pressing down from above. She wanders towards them, but the glowing orbs bob along, always out of reach. They stretch as far as the eye can see, warm and promising, but she can't get any closer.

She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. She waves her hand, but the scene doesn't change this time.

Instead, one of the lights pauses. It hovers, removed from the others, emitting a soft, faded yellow glow.

She blinks.

And this time, she is sitting atop one of the boats in her family's shipyard. The bone-deep cold is gone, replaced by a comfortingly chilly breeze scented with salt and brine.

Everything is still too quiet, however. The wind whistles in her ears, but it sounds like it's coming from a distant mountain. The gulls' familiar, harking calls are also suspiciously absent.

She looks around, swinging her feet over the side of the boat, aware that she shouldn't do so. It nags at her - the urge to swing her feet to solid wooden planks. She ignores it, however, in favor of staring at the thick sheets of fog over the water. It just brushes the tips of her bare feet. What is she doing up here with bare feet, anyway?

The sea sloshes against the boat as her legs dangle. Odd, how she can hear that much.

She sits, and sits, and sits some more. Waiting.

Waiting for the little voices to start up again. Maybe they will reveal something more to her. Just one word. Or two.

The wind howls.

A little later, it asks very nicely: _Do you come here often?_

She has never spoken to the wind before. She nods, figuring it can see her. The wind is everywhere, after all.

"Yeah, but it's never like this."

 _It seems peaceful up here._

It doesn't sound like anyone she knows. Neither a woman, nor a man's voice.

"But it's not. Not when I'm awake, at least," she explains quietly. She doesn't need to speak very loudly if the wind is right here with her. "It's dangerous. You could fall and break something. Or just fall and never wake up. Oh. Not you, of course. You're the wind after all."

 _Yes, but I think I can imagine it._

"Imagine what?"

 _Falling. Is it scary?_

"Not for you, it wouldn't be," she says. "Because you're the wind, it wouldn't really feel like falling. More like...flying. What's it like to fly?"

 _Cold. Lonely, sometimes._

"I wish I could fly," she says wistfully, staring up at the sky as if she can imagine the gulls going in circles above her like they usually do. "It'd be nice to be all the way up there."

 _No. You only believe it would be nice because you're rooted to the ground. There is nothing special about being up here. I find the earth much more exciting. There are lots of things to see and do._

"Oh. You have a point, I guess."

She sighs. It's only a soft one, but it escapes her lungs as a huge gust of wind, washing the voice away with it.

Then it's just her, the fog, and the boat.

* * *

Yes, all of this was in her (Bianca's) dream.

Bianca Transom belongs to Elim9.


	8. Promised One: Celestia Hemingway

**Union of the Stars: The 220th Hunger Games**

 **Side Stories**

* * *

 **8: Promised One - Celestia Hemingway**

 _In which Celestia is informed that she may be the only one capable of bringing back District glory and the old ways she cherishes._

* * *

When Celestia was a little girl, she loved her grandmother's stories of the Victors who would personally visit each District in the year following their victory. Her head was filled with the lovely outfits her grandmother described to her painstakingly, from One Victors bejeweled in gold and diamonds to the strength and pride reflected in Two's Victors serious, clean-cut suits and dresses.

The best part about the Games was, however, not the outfits or the parades or the Victory Tours, but the Games themselves. The contest of strength, the desperate struggle for glory and victory.

As she watched her parents at work, creating lovely faces and figures out of ugly stone blocks, she listened to her grandmother describe how Victors were once the same. They started as unrefined, nameless tributes. They ended with their names etched forever in stone. The Capitol would sculpt away the imperfections and preserve their valor for all to see.

Celestia grips the wooden sword tightly in her hands, which are already slightly calloused from spending the last five years practicing in the flat, beaten training area behind the house of one of her mentors. She swings it without hesitation at one of the towering trees in the yard. The jolt of the impact traveling up her arm sends a thrill of excitement through her.

Swords, knives, spears, axes - she has gone through all of them at some point by now. For some of them, namely spears and axes, frustration runs through her body every time she picks them up and finds herself unable to copy the powerful yet graceful movements that her teachers can pull off.

Next to her is her older cousin two years her senior. Celestia doesn't bother glancing at her as she practices her swings. Even though they are both competing for the same honor, the same glory, the same _goal_ , she has been taught better than to allow anything to distract her.

The sun is hot overhead, blisteringly hot, making her hands slick with sweat. The sword nearly slips out of her hands even though the grip has been wrapped with tough strips of cloth. Celestia keeps a tight hold on it until her teacher comes up behind her.

"Take a breather," the older woman demands. Celestia looks over her shoulder, chest heaving but mind buzzing with annoyance.

"What is it?" she asks, almost stomping her foot. Almost. "What do I need to fix?"

"Go take a drink of water and I'll tell you."

Celestia beats her cousin to the bench and pours herself a glass of water, taking her time drinking it only because she knows it'll make her sick if she doesn't. Their trainer makes her way over at a slower pace.

"Too stiff," she says. "Keep being on edge like that and you'll never get through a week, let alone a few weeks, in the arena. Do two more sets of drills. When you're done, come inside."

Celestia nods, wondering what the cause is for the break in routine.

Her trainer makes her way to the back porch of her house. Celestia watches her tall, strong back disappear and takes a deep breath, lifting her head up high. Since when did she let it drop, anyway? If she is to be Two's first _real_ tribute in decades, she needs to always be on her toes. The Capitol is always watching, after all.

Her cousin is already back to practice, having passed her while she was thinking. Celestia stands as tall as her ten-year-old self can and marches over. It doesn't matter that there is a two-year difference between them. She'll win that spot.

After finishing the second set of drills, Celestia trots up the path through the garden to the house, an old stone building like every other one in Two. The only difference is that old ivy grows up the sides of all the houses in this neighborhood. It clings to the crevices between stones, reaching up for the sky - much like the small community Celestia is a part of.

The interior is sparse and practical, furnished with old beaten furniture. The only new item in the place is the TV, which plays videos of the old Hunger Games more often than it does the new ones.

Celestia finds her trainer in the main room with several of her other trainers and mentors. They are the few in the entire District who keep the old ways alive, and they are rarely seen in the same place all at once. Celestia straightens her back as she enters the room, feeling that something important is about to take place.

"Take a seat," her sword trainer says. Celestia cranes her neck to see her standing near the back of the crowd. "We have something to tell you, Celestia, Theresa."

Excitement flits in her stomach, but she keeps her expression as neutral as possible. If one or two twitches of her lips give her away, well, she supposes it might be okay just this once.

"Your generation has shown great promise," says her trainer in spears, a man who in his youth was rivals with Two's last pair of real tributes.

"Out of all our trainees, we have narrowed the pool down to you two," says another, a woman who was once going to be a tribute and never got that chance at glory. "And today was the day that chose the one who will represent our community and carry on our ways."

Next to her, her cousin let out a soft huff, probably annoyed to be lumped in with Celestia, her junior.

"The one we have chosen to bring glory back to District 2 is _you_ , Celestia."

Celestia takes a sharp breath, just barely able to hold back from jumping up and screaming out of joy.

"What!? Why her?" her cousin demands. Celestia smiles.

"Thank you," she says, honest and unable to stop her smile from widening into a grin. Then she speaks the words she has planned for this occasion, realizing that her father's recent outings probably weren't just for fun. "Thank you for this honor."

"You have earned this of your own merit," says her sword trainer. "Your strength and determination have gotten you here. Now they must carry you to the starting line: the reaping. The moment you volunteer is where the real pride and honors starts."

Celestia nods, barely able to keep still. She ignores her cousin's protests and sits anxiously at the edge of her seat, wanting to return to training as soon as possible.

This is what she has been training for these past five years. Only the person the trainers choose will be able to study and practice under them. Long ago, they used to train many boys and girls, but today is different. They will only have the time to train Celestia. And for reasons that she doesn't totally understand yet, they will only have one shot at this.

"Take the rest of the day off." Celestia opens her mouth to protest. "Go celebrate. We'll pick up where we left off tomorrow."

* * *

Celestia is 10 years old here. What they were looking for was mental and physical potential, though obviously she wasn't as physically strong as her cousin, she showed much better promise overall.

Celestia Hemingway belongs to goldie031.


	9. Striations: Celis Alberink

**Union of the Stars: The 220th Hunger Games**

 **Side Stories**

 _I've been keeping with the order the tributes are introduced in, but this story wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it._

* * *

 **9: Striations - Celis Alberink**

 _The day that Celis finds out one of his friends is a Mu is the day his world grows a little dimmer._

* * *

An old hawthorn tree looms in a corner of the school's main courtyard. A sturdy fence wrapped in red strips of plastic surrounds the tree with signs warning students not to touch its branches posted on all four sides. It is a sadly practical measure, given that at least one person a year tries to climb the tree on a dare only stab themselves on the thorns protruding from the branches.

A boy is standing beneath that tree at this very moment. Celis watched him climb over the fence from a foggy window in the hallway connecting the two school buildings. He nimbly hopped over and went to stand beneath its widespread branches heavy with tiny white flowers, then touched the trunk with an outstretched hand.

Celis follows the hallway down to the double doors leading outside and pushes one open, blinking against a heavy gust of the cold spring air that flows down to District 7 from the north. It closes around his body as he steps outside and walks down the dirt path to the tree.

"Signs exist for a reason, Linden," Celis reminds his friend as he stops just outside the fence. Linden waits a moment before turning around with a shallow smile and an uncharacteristically steady gaze that puts Celis ill at ease. The last time he looked like this, his family's dog had died and for some reason he thought Celis would be a good person to cry to about it.

"Sometimes the consequences are worth breaking the rules for," Linden says. It's a phrase Celis has heard from him before. A frown instantly crosses his lips and he leans closer, over the fence, to whisper harshly in his face.

"Not if those consequences get you killed."

"The worst I'll get are a few cuts." Linden smiles, but it's a frail smile, the type that shouldn't even be expressed.

Celis leans back, crossing his arms.

"What is this really about? You have no intention of climbing that tree, do you?"

Linden shakes his head, his golden brown hair whipping around his face as he steps forward until the fence blocks his path.

"I have something I need to tell you," he says in a small voice.

"So? Tell me," Celis demands.

"It's not an easy thing to tell," Linden says with a firm glare. His wide brown eyes narrow, staring steadily into Celis's own. The conviction in them is an amorphous, but solid presence, convincing enough that Celis spares no thought to the idea that it might be a lie.

Possibilities run through Celis's mind. A secret that is difficult to tell?

Just as he is about to venture a guess, as much as he dreads this possibility, Linden reaches for him. His friend's cold fingers clasp over his right hand, almost confirming his thoughts until he feels a sharp jolt pass between them.

It's mildly painful, like someone has driven a needle and thread to connect them like two patches of cloth. Celis tries to tug his hand away, but Linden keeps a firm hold on it.

" _Celis…_ "

Celis winces, a warm burst of confusion filling him as his name echoes in his mind. It sinks further than any other sound he has heard before, like a drop of dye spreading through a thick sheet of cloth.

" _Celis, I'm a Mu._ "

Celis finally yanks his hand away and the connection is gone in an instant. He shivers as his mind empties of that odd presence.

Linden is smiling, achingly sad. It's the same smile as the one he gave when Celis asked why he couldn't just get another dog if he missed the old one so much.

"It wouldn't be the same," he'd said. "Don't you understand that some things can't be replaced or redone? People and animals aren't pieces of paper that you can scrap and remake if they get messed up."

Celis turns and runs.

* * *

Celis does the most natural thing in the world and reports it to the Peacekeepers the next morning. They stare at the sixteen-year-old with identical looks of surprise, then worry, then feigned reassurance.

"We'll look into it," they say. "But, I wouldn't worry much if I were you. Most Mu reports turn out to be false alarms."

"I hope you take every report seriously," Celis comments, concealing his disconcerted unease at their lackadaisical attitudes. "Just because this one didn't attack me, doesn't mean it isn't a Mu. Or do you only catch them once they have killed someone?"

The Peacekeepers are forced to assuage his fears by promising to conduct a thorough search soon.

* * *

Three days later, Celis sees Linden at school and curses the Peacekeepers' incompetence.

However, he quickly realized that the Linden sitting in front of him in class isn't the same boy he has known for over nine years.

He had stumbled into class late without a single word of apology or explanation, an unfocused look in his eyes as he shuffled to his seat and sank into place with a sharp wince. When people spoke to him, he averted his eyes and responded with quiet, one word answers. A single tap on his shoulder made him swing around and nearly smack their friend Yulian in the face.

During lunchtime, Celis sets off in search of him. Predictably, he finds him by the hawthorn tree on the other side of the fence.

"How did you manage to trick their scanners, Mu?" Celis asks scathingly. He doesn't allow himself to lose his nerve or the hatred thick in his tone of voice even when Linden turns around and gazes at him sadly. No, perhaps it isn't sadness. Pain? His brow is drawn and dark circles sit beneath his eyes.

"I didn't," Linden breathes quietly, his chest heaving as if those two words took all the effort in the world. "I don't know what I'm doing here."

"Well-"

"Can…can we walk home together? I promise, I won't do anything to you. Of all the people in this District, you're the last one I would ever want to hurt. Please." Linden's words flow out one after another, tumbling forth with hardly a breath to spare. They're desperate, but Celis can hardly pick up on the sentiment; there is barely any energy in his voice at all.

This time, he can't determine whether Linden is lying or not. Mu are deceptive beings. Linden might be reading his mind to figure out what to say to sway him.

Or he might be telling the truth.

"Okay," Celis relents. He isn't sure why he does. His grandfather would be mortified if he knew what danger Celis is about to walk into. On any other day, Celis would never even consider it. He needs to know why Linden is still here, though, and the reason for the hollowness in his eyes.

"Thank you," Linden smiles.

* * *

They walk home together. It's an odd feeling. Linden's home is in the opposite direction, so he will have to double back after Celis reaches his place. He insisted, though, when the final bell rang and Celis got out of his seat.

Walking down the winding paths through the trees, Celis feels a sense of dread creeping upon him. He makes Linden walk in front of him, but it only prolongs the cloying, disgusting feeling welling up inside. Linden moves at a snail's pace, so unlike his usual energetic step that Celis watches his every move with a wary eye.

"What did they do to you?" Celis asks after a time, wondering at his uncoordinated steps and frequent breaks to catch his breath.

Linden glances back at him with unfocused eyes that stare off behind him, then focus on Celis again for a short time before darting away again.

"I don't know," he says, but his voice is flat. He isn't even trying to make the lie believable.

"They did something." Linden nods. "Tell me."

Confusion swims in Linden's dull brown eyes. His mouth moves, but no sound comes out, and it shuts it again. Celis approaches him, strides long and forceful, and reaches out for this being he used to call his friend.

Linden's eyes widen. He jerks back.

"No! Don't touch me!"

Celis hears - something. The low, deep whine of wood straining and breaking. It's familiar to anyone in District 7, even to Celis who doesn't work in the lumber business.

As the sound builds, Celis watches Linden grab him by the arms and shove him away. The push barely has any force in it. It spurs Celis into stumbling away, though, into moving his feet to save himself from the tree that is inexplicably coming down.

A screech and groan of wood splits the quiet afternoon air in two. Celis squeezes his eyes shut, mind whirling around for an explanation, a reason why a perfectly healthy tree would suddenly splinter and collapse. Of course, he knows the reason. It's standing right in front of him. Or was.

When he opens his eyes, he sees split wood and branches heavy with leaves in front of him.

"Linden?" he says, hoarse. He creeps forward on shaky legs, freezing when he sees a familiar form slumped on the ground beneath the fallen tree. He has seen Mu weather far worst in the arena. One Victor from Ten was even strong enough to survive falling boulders with only a broken wrist.

However, Linden's body glows intermittently with a soft red haze, not enough to do anything about the broken tree crushing him and the large splinter struck through his side. Celis watches the blood pour onto the earth, sinking into the dirt between blades of grass. His grandfather's stories come to mind, of the destruction that the Mu wrought on Panem, the senseless deaths that occurred because of them. How seeing a few die each year would never make up for the amount of people who died in the Wars.

Celis approaches the tree, mesmerized and moving purely on horrified curiosity.

Linden's eyes open slowly as if from a deep sleep. His chest heaves, forcing more blood out of his wounds with every breath.

"Why?" Celis finds himself saying. His voice sounds far away, as if he is hearing himself from a distance. His hands are limp at his side as he repeats, his voice growing ever more desperate for an answer, "Why? Why did you tell me you were a Mu? Were you hoping for a different outcome?"

He suddenly finds that he needs to know. This isn't the result of some rational decision. Linden has always known how much Celis despises the Mu. He has listened to him wonder why the Capitol simply cannot shoot them on the spot and hang their bodies out as an example to the remaining Mu rather than send them through the Games.

Linden doesn't speak. One of his arms is outstretched, free of the weight crushing his bones. It moves just enough to brush against Celis's ankle, and that movement alone is enough to make Linden screw his eyes shut in pain. He won't have the strength to open them again, Celis suspects.

" _Because_ _I know you will always make the right decision. That's just the kind of person you are…_ "

As the words sink gradually into his mind, barely obtrusive this time, the weak spot of contact between them falls away and Linden's breathing slows.

"Make the right decision," Celis echoes long after the blood stops seeping into the dirt.

Words are left unsaid between them. Linden's final words, which he couldn't even finish telepathically, which will never be born into the world. But Celis knows what they were going to be. He felt it in Linden's last breath, in the quiet relief as he let go.

 _Thank you._

* * *

The Peacekeepers made Linden undergo a ''psychological exam' (A procedure that bombards a Mu with machine-generated psion waves to measure their psionic potential, but also happens to be very painful. It can be used for other means as well, like psychological torture sessions.) to force him to go berserk so they could kill him. If he killed others in the process? Well, just supports their argument that Mu are dangerous. Linden asked Celis to walk with him knowing he was going to snap and that Celis is the one person he'd never be able to hurt.

Celis Alberink belongs to me.


	10. Tacking: Marlan Hendriks

**Union of the Stars: The 220th Hunger Games**

 **Side Stories**

* * *

 **10: Tacking - Marlan Hendriks**

 _Marlan's mother always told him: it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt._

( _warnings: implied child abuse & victim blaming_)

* * *

 _tacking_ : the act of making quick, temporary stitches that will later be removed

Violent winds batter the rickety windows of their apartment and the lights are still flickering weakly, spilling warm yellow light across the walls and floors before dying out with a click. Outside, the storm howls through the tall buildings of District 8.

Marlan flops on his bed located in the main living area of their two-room apartment. His mother is fumbling with a candle and matches while his father is taking a shower after getting off work.

"Come over here and help me," his mother says when she finally has the candle burning steadily. Marlan eyes the round globe of light it casts on the kitchen table dubiously. There's no wind in here, but the flame flickers wildly as his mother crouches over a piece of fabric, her breath just enough to disturb it.

"I'll stab myself," Marlan complains as he gets up and goes over nonetheless.

He picks up a shirt and selects a needle and thread from the basket, then sits across from his mother to start sewing. It's much faster when they work in the factory, since they have machines there, but his mother likes to take home some work for extra cash.

"Just don't rush," she cautions, not looking up at him.

Marlan frowns. He continues his work, though, zoning out as starts sewing the hem. The light is unsteady, but it's enough to see by.

They sit in silence for a while. Marlan is halfway through the collar when he hears a knock at the door.

"It's Leo!"

He immediately stops, pushes the shirt into a basket and the needle back into the pincushion, and runs to the door.

Sure enough, it's Leo waiting there. Marlan can barely see his features, but he can recognize his best friend anywhere.

"Leo!" he says, darting an arm out to drag Leo inside.

Leo laughs, but it's sort of strained. Marlan freezes. There's a sort of tension to his voice, a twinge of something that makes Marlan's heart speed up and steps slow. He turns around, insistently pushing the thought expanding in his head that something is wrong.

"It- it's awfully windy out tonight," Marlan says awkwardly.

Leo urges him to keep walking, so Marlan does, leading Leo to his bed.

"Stay," Marlan says, smiling even though Leo can't really see him. "I'll get the kit."

As he turns around to find the medical kit under the kitchen sink, a cold metal box is placed in his hands. He looks up at his mother, who is already returning to her work.

"Thanks, mom!" Marlan calls. He turns back around just as the lights flicker on.

In that brief moment, Marlan is struck with an awfully strong sense of pain. He bites his bottom lip, unable to move past the ache in his chest.

"Doesn't that hurt?" he asks, stupidly, as the lights die and he can move again.

"It's just a little sore," Leo says, acting as if this is a secret he is shamefully admitting. But it's not even the whole truth. Of course it isn't.

Marlan doesn't ask. He sits next to Leo on the bed, crossing his legs as he sorts through the medical kit, pulling out ointment and bandages.

"You don't have to waste all that. Just rubbing alcohol to clean it will do."

Marlan scoffs.

"Leg," he says, patting the bed next to him. Leo slowly places his leg on the sheets. As he cleans the wound, he thinks, and finally he says, "…Are you really gonna let him beat on you forever?"

"Marlan!" his mother hisses.

Even though he isn't facing her, he can see the way her movement disturbed the candle, creating ripples in the halo of light against the table and floor, distorting the shadows against the walls.

"Sorry…" Marlan mutters.

Leo takes the roll of bandages and does that himself.

"He only gets this bad every now and again. It's fine. There are worse things."

"Worse things?"

"Like…" Leo leans in close, his breath warm against Marlan's ear. "Like the Games. Like getting into a factory accident, like-"

Marlan stiffens.

"The Games?" he hisses, glancing backwards at his mother. It looks like she didn't notice, though.

"But you agree with me. That the Games are cruel."

In fact, it was Leo's idea to begin with. But once he suggested it to Marlan and explained himself, Marlan ended up adopting it as his own.

He nods. Careful to speak in a low tone, he says, "I do. Even if they aren't human…it's still a horrible way to die."

Sometimes, Marlan thinks that Leo's occasional bruises and cuts are the reason why he even realized the true nature of the Games. Marlan always loved to watch the recaps, the highlights of the epic fights between Mu of equal strength. It was better than any abstract fairytale his mother used to tell him at bedtime.

He never once thought that it was strange until the first time Leo stumbled downstairs and asked if he could stay the night. And even then, it had taken half a year of mulling over Leo's words and the recent Games he had watched.

'I'm fine,' and 'He didn't mean it,' and 'It was my fault for forgetting to lock the door'. And, lastly, remembering that one tribute from District 11. That one girl who asked her own ally to kill her, because she couldn't handle being a Mu. How she had accepted that she had to die, freezing, alone, and bleeding out of a messy stab wound, because she was born a Mu and this was their fate.

It didn't align exactly, but Marlan thought a lot about those two incidents.

As he finishes patching Leo's wounds up, Marlan flashes him a smile in the brief moment between the lights returning and fading again.

* * *

Marlan is a problematic child. To be more accurate, he just really acts his age. He's younger than 14 in this ficlet, probably 11-12. I created him to be a rather normal, average preteen boy. He's selfish. He doesn't always see things from others' points of view even though he tries and has a kind heart inside.


End file.
